Darlin, it's cold outside
by Lady Talla-doe
Summary: "they stared at one another for what seemed to the human was a small eternity; the silence stretched between them, heavy with implication, with unspoken words." Black Hat x Priest. For HarleyandDavid, and Zuvios Gemini. Following  up to'Dust of the Moon'


_Fun fact: this story started out being called 'The storm', then progressed through increasingly cheesy titles until I landed on this one, which was pronounced to be the best by my sister._

_This dedicated to HarleyandDavid, and Zuvios Gemini (smutt off!)_

_Happy birthday, D.A.V.I.D!_

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><p><strong>Darlin, it's cold outside. <strong>

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><p>The sand was rough beneath his palms, as he slid, putting out both hands to catch himself. Close; so close. He could smell him, up ahead- blood, sweat, leather. The night was cold, with a strong wind; it whipped at his robes, blowing the fleeing man's scent into his face. Beneath his feet, loose, sandy earth shifted, skidding away; as soon as he lifted his foot, the wind blew away the print, erasing all signs of him.<p>

They shouldn't be out in the gale; he knows this, can feel the storm strengthening, even as he staggers to his feet, holding an arm in front of his face, as if to deflect the brutality of it; it's a pointless gesture, utterly useless. His air mask, and goggles are still in place, keeping out the biting sand. Regardless, he feels like he has to do _something_, and a useless gesture brings slight comfort.

Just catch up to him, he keeps telling himself, as he shoves against the press of the wind, slogging through it like deep water; just catch up- that's all he has to do. Don't think beyond that.

Don't think about the holy blade clutched in his wind-numbed hands.

Don't think about the act.

Don't think about it.

One foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. On and on, as the howl becomes a shriek, deafening him. He's ducking his head, gritting his teeth behind the air filter; bits of rock and earth keep stinging his exposed skin, like hundreds of bees.

He can't see him anymore; can't pick up even the slightest shadow. He must be ahead, somewhere; after all, he's stronger. Faster. Better able to endure.

It almost doesn't surprise him, when an arm comes out of the storm to his right, grabbing him by the collar of his robes, and drags him bodily out of the gale, through a narrow fissure in the rock that he hadn't seen.

Not just the fissure. He hadn't even seen the _rock_.

The sudden lack of resistance is disorienting; he hangs by his robes, stunned senseless, limbs utterly useless as he tries to force them _up_, make them to do something even remotely useful. He's hanging from his neck, and can barely make his fingers twitch.

It's almost amusing.

"Don't you look pathetic." He must look awful, because it sounds disturbingly like concern. No mistaking the voice; stubbornly, he drags his head up, squinting to bring Ezekiel's face into focus. It swims into view, gold eyes, brown hair, weather-aged skin. He looks like half his head's missing, without the hat.

But handsome, in his own rugged way.

What an odd thought. It occurred to him, at that moment, that he was tired enough to be legally drunk. Exhaustion is dragging at him, pulling at his eyelids, each blink heavier then the last. He could summon his will, fight the sensation, but right now, it's blessed relief to give in.

He closes his eyes, and slumps further in the vampire's grip, hanging limply as blackness washes over his mind.

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><p>Waking up was almost not worth the effort; his limbs still feel impossibly heavy, like his bones had morphed into lead. He lets his head loll to the side, eyeing the man tending the fire with detached interest.<p>

He's still alive. Strange. Stranger still, it felt like the vampire had draped something over him, like a blanket; he flexes his fingers, a dull dart of surprise twisting through him. His coat. The vampire had laid his large leather duster over him, covering the unconscious Priest from the bite of cold in the air. Well, he assumed the air was cold; the fire crackled softly, throwing off enough heat to keep the round pocket they were in warm, toasty even.

The longer he lay there, the more his strength returns, until he's reasonably sure he could move, if needed. It wasn't illness, or any strange poison stealing his strength, his energy; just ordinary, human exhaustion. Even a Priest had limits, and he had clearly pushed himself beyond his.

Tired. So tired. His eyes slide closed, for just a moment; it isn't like it matters, after all. Watching Ezekiel would be pointless; the vampire could kill him before Isaac's eyes had even registered that he had moved- staring at him was a waste of time. Instead, he let his gaze wander their surroundings, taking them in the unsteady light of the fire.

It was a vaguely round chamber, with a high ceiling, slanting low on their end, but disappearing up into the shadows near the entrance. Which looked farther away then was possible.

His eyes widened as realisation hit.

It was up the wall.

Far, far up the wall – well beyond the distance he could reach, even with help- was the small, jagged hole in the cave wall, almost beyond the light of their fire. The darkness past it was solid, unyielding; but there was no sound of wind.

So. They were underground, in a chamber, within what he could only assume was a larger complex of caves. Annoyed, he returned to staring at the vampire.

"I can hear you frowning, Isaac."

It only made him frown harder. Even as comrades, he'd disliked the southerner's habit of calling him by name.

A chuckle. Ezekiel's gold eyes had moved from the flames, now fixed intently on his still form. He kept quiet, clearly waiting for Isaac to speak; the Priest scowled - it irked him, that his once-brother could read him so well, after all these years.

"Why am I still alive." It came out a statement, delivered too soft for human ears. But Ezekiel's lips pulled back in an easy grin, teeth glittering in the fire light. The vampire moved, slowly getting up, and walking the few feet to squat by Isaac's side. Isaac's scowl deepened as he settled a hand on his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

"You know the answer to that."

"Do I." Stronger now, but still soft. God, he was tired. Too tired for this crap.

"Yes, you do." Strange, how Ezekiel's eyes seemed to dull in the firelight, almost a brown- almost human.

Priest closed his eyes, making a noise vaguely like a snort.

"Not doing this now." Blue eyes opened to slits, glaring up. Already so damn tired. "Sleeping."

_Go away_. The faint creak of boot leather, as the vampire shifted, most likely shocked; Isaac was shocking himself, truth be told. But He was just so _tired_. He honestly couldn't care less what the other man did to him, so long as he let him sleep. weariness was dragging at him, pulling at his very bones; his muscles ached with it, and his eyes _burned_. He would be appalled, later, but nothing seems to matter right then. Just sleep, _rest_. Not that his enemy was in that very room; not even that he lay beneath his coat. Nothing.

Sleep.

Rest.

Isaac's eyes drifted shut once more, and he surrendered himself back to the black.

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><p>It was impossible to tell how much time had passed since he'd closed his eyes. Isaac sat up slowly, shrugging out from underneath his heavy make-shift blanket. Ezekiel turned his head, fixing the Priest with unnatural gold eyes; they stared at one another for what seemed to the human was a small eternity; the silence stretched between them, heavy with implication, with unspoken words.<p>

_Why am I alive?_ Isaac didn't say.

They stared at one another, over the fire.

_You know the answer._ Ezekiel didn't reply.

It was impossible to say which moved first; Isaac stood, leaving the leather duster on the ground, the coat barely touching the dusty stone before he was wrapped in strong arms, engulfed in that damp-earth scent. They didn't kiss, didn't speak; vampire held mortal, and mortal held vampire, heads bowed, touching, clutching the other so tightly that both had whitened knuckles.

"They want me to kill you." Isaac confessed into the fabric covering Ezekiel's shoulder. The vampire gave a short nod, moving a hand to run it over the man's short blonde hair, down his neck; soothing him, one of the few ways he knew how. Isaac shuddered, tightening his grip, and ducked his head down further, burying it completely in Ezekiel's shoulder.

"I can't."

"I know."

"They want you dead."

"I know."

"They want me to kill you." A broken confession, barely audible; he tightened his hold, stroking down his neck, back, growling softly.

"Shh, I know. Hush darlin', just hush." Barely restrained anger made his voice rough, accent thickening the words. Years of hurt, years of lies- of confusion, pain, twisted his face in a silent snarl. Isaac wasn't a weak man; Ezekiel knew this first hand. But to see his once-Brother so tormented, torn between his duty to those who didn't deserve his loyalty, and Ezekiel himself- he had conflicting impulses to stash the man somewhere safe, somewhere no one could get at him, and never leave him alone ever again- and the simultaneous urge to hunt down everyone who had issued those orders, and rip out their throats with his _hands_.

But he could do neither. If he kept Isaac against his will, he would turn on him; the result would be the same if he killed everyone who set them against each other.

It was a thin line they walked, a delicate balance. One wrong move, and one of them died.

It made him irrationally proud, that he didn't know who it would be.

"Isaac. Isaac, darlin' will you be alright?" He pulled back slightly, cocking his head so he could see the other man's face. Isaac met his gaze, face grim.

"This isn't right." Guilt, bright in his brilliant eyes. Ezekiel brushed his thumb under Isaac's left eye, just under his lashes, shaking his head as he watched him.

"No, it ain't. It ain't fair, either. We never asked for our roles in this, but we do our parts. Give me one night, Isaac," he implored, sliding his hand down to grip the Priest's wrist, giving it a squeeze.

"Let me hold you. Just for tonight, then do what you will. Take your knife, and put it between my ribs. I won't stop you. Just give me tonight." Gold eyes fixed on the uncertainty, the way Isaac clenched and unclenched his hands, looking anywhere but Ezekiel's face. It was wrong, it was manipulative- but he found himself doing it anyway.

Gripping his strong jaw carefully, tilting up his face, catching those troubled eyes with his own, and uttering one soft, utterly soul-bare word.

"_Please_."

He could actually _see_ Isaac's resistance crumple, dissolving into nothing under the humanity he'd bared. Humanity his pale lover needed, craved. He had him, then. It was selfish, and it was cruel- with a few short words, he could drive him away, save them both. But he never did. Every single time, he reached out, and Isaac reached back.

It was almost sickening, sitting behind his eyes, and watching himself destroy any chance they had of surviving. To watch himself give in, yield to the pull of him, the allure. They had resisted for so long- years, years spent fighting, killing his kind, side by side. Riding the adrenaline high, the bloodlust. So many times they could have broken their vows, but didn't; so strongly, they withheld. Until the next battle, the next bloodbath. They had been so strong.

And then he fell, and their control was shot completely to hell. They had crashed together, inevitable as death itself. A bloody, brawling fight turning into something new, something forbidden ; all it had taken was one moment, a tiny second of that flame, that same old desire, and he had broken. Broken so completely, that they had never been the same.

The kiss he gave Isaac now was nothing like their first one. His mortal was so close to breaking, one soft shove could send him over the edge. So he drew him close, holding him like he were dying, and kissed him, softly, like he were a bird, and not a man. The softest of touches, the barest brush of lips.

Tender. His Priest looked at him as if he didn't recognise the man he saw, and Ezekiel knew what he was thinking. That the vampire still had humanity. He was not all lost.

That he could save him.

Funny, how they both thought that. Wanting to save the other.

"Ezekiel..." blue eyes were glazed, distant; Ezekiel hushed him with a kiss, moving to slide the thick robe he wore off his shoulders. Isaac let him, shrugging out of it quickly, not letting him put any space between their bodies.

It was always like this. A fight. A chase. Almost quitting each other.

Sex, in the desert, in the woods- in the hall of an abandoned hive, or cave; the rare cabin. Frantic, rushed, both scared- for each other, for the thought of capture, it hardly mattered. Regardless of the reason it was all the same. In the end, Isaac always pulled away from him. Returned to his cities, his precious church.

He was determined to make this time different. They had time- so much time. Outside, the storm still raged, hours from ending, possibly days. He had time, time to hold him, time to reconnect. Time, possibly, to persuade.

Time.

Funny, how it had no affect on him, yet ruled his thoughts. Time.

Time, running out.

Ezekiel took his time, moving slow, sliding his thumb over Isaac's collarbone, smoothing his hand over his shoulder. Cradling his face, kissing him slow. He heard the whisper soft sigh, felt as the tension crept away; heard the near silent noise of lashes against skin, as his fierce Priest finally let his guard down, leaning into Ezekiel's touch. Strong, calloused hands slid over the vampires ribs, thumbs following the strong lien of his abs, tracing firm enough to quell the faint shiver of skin. Isaac simply held him, keeping his hands where they were, letting Ezekiel trace his body with graceful touches.

Down his back, sliding, fingers spread, until he could duck his hand under the hem of Isaac's shirt, dragging it up slowly, keeping the human between himself and the fire, stepping the man backwards until they stood in the circle of heat cast from it; Isaac shivered, once, when Ezekiel slide off his shirt. In apology, the once-Priest ran his hands down his lover's sides, touch warm, possessive. As Ezekiel kissed down Isaac's neck, Isaac plucked at the ties of the vampire's shirt, tugging apart the simple knots until he could push it off his shoulders.

Ezekiel let it drop, forgotten, to the ground. Tan hands smoothed over his Priest's milky skin, relearning it, worshipping it. Every small curve of muscle, every rough scar; his fingers found it, touched it, smoothed across the small blemishes and perfect lines until his lover's heartbeat spiked, raising from the steady pulse that never seemed to waver. He smiled into his skin, enjoying simply touching him. Isaac's impatience simply egged him on, driving him to find new ways to make the man squirm, to make him curse.

Isaac retaliated, scrapping his teeth across Ezekiel's pulse point, making the vampire's lust spike. The mortal had spine, challenging him like that. Not that he wouldn't thoroughly enjoy meeting that challenge; sliding an arm around the pale man's waist, he lowered them slowly to the ground, reaching out blindly to snag his coat, and spread it out beneath them, Isaac's soft outer robe laid on top. It was far from the most comfortable bed he'd ever lain in, but as Isaac allowed himself to be pushed down into the dark nest, pale skin contrasting so vividly against the fabric, it seemed to be the best one yet.

Their other clothes were shed in a rush, haste making them careless; Ezekiel's pants tore, around the belt line, a six inch ragged rip form a too frantic pull. Isaac's loose, soft fabric pants were ripped too, but neither of them cared. he only importance was to touch the newly exposed skin, to worship it with fingers and lips; Isaac gasped, and twisted, gripping his hair tight as Ezekiel licked down his stomach, nuzzling his hips, before taking the man into his mouth; not for long, Isaac rarely withstood the sensations. But enough to make his lover thrash and squirm, flushing so beautiful in the firelight.

He crawled back up his body, crushing their lips together in a fierce, heated kiss, that softened quickly. One pale hand tangled again in his hair, fingers moving gently against his scalp; the sensation had him leaning unconsciously into the touch, whispering soft endearments to his beautiful lover.

Preparation was something that they always rushed, but not tonight. When he spread Isaac's thighs, the priest blushed heavily, still so easily embarrassed by the act. Yet he said nothing, meeting Ezekiel's gaze squarely; one shallow nod towards the tiny bottle by the fire; Ezekiel grinned, flashing fang, and lay a kiss to the inside of Isaac's thigh.

The first finger always made the Priest squirm, biting back noises of discomfort. But he loosened up quickly enough, especially when Ezekiel kissed up his body, latching onto one nipple, and toying mercilessly with it, until he could easily sink a second finger into the man. Isaac groaned, low and deep, eyes closed- Ezekiel always wondered in those moments, if he was pretending something else was happening, or memorising it for the long months of loneliness before them.

Either way, soon he had him thrashing in place, hissing and cursing him for teasing, for prolonging the torment. It was amusing then, to see him so vulnerable, yet completely oblivious; like going back in time, a silly prank, perhaps, having flustered and irritated his esteemed colleague.

But he kept up with the slow torture, sliding a third finger in, waiting longer then necessary, then moving, slowly, far too slowly. Isaac curse him, threatening, blustering and begging, until he was breathless; only then did Ezekiel pull his fingers from him, pushing himself up Isaac's body, so he could watch his face, as he positioned himself, breaching the man slowly- so slowly, too slowly. Over sensitised as he was, he gripped his lover's erection at the base, squeezing carefully to keep him from coming too soon. It was minutes, long, glorious minutes, in which he slid slowly into him, chuckling softly as Isaac thrashed, cursing, attempting to force him to move faster, to do _anything_; Ezekiel ducked his head, licking the sweat off Isaac's throat.

Finally, his hips were pressed firmly to Isaac's, fitting perfectly, oh so perfectly. His partner was panting, glaring at him; he smiled, and kissed his eyes, one after the other- then gripped his hips, and set a fast, brutal pace, dragging Isaac's lower body into the air, forcing the man to curve into himself. They wouldn't last long, not at that pace, but already, they had had so much time. He didn't want to wait, wasn't about to tease; just before his body tightened, Ezekiel leaned down, kissing Isaac softly, once, twice, three times; the priest made a soft noise, jerking back as his body went stiff, clamping down on Ezekiel- he thrust through his lover's climax, coming inside him.

Spent, the collapsed into the nest of clothes, curled around each other. The fire dried their sweat, warmed their skin, and filled the quiet with soft crackles.

Isaac reached for Ezekiel's hand, twisting their fingers together. Ezekiel lifted their joined hands, kissing the scarred knuckles of his human lover.

Together, they waited out the storm.


End file.
